Page:Frigate well mann'd.pdf/7

 ( 7 ) For when ſhe is at dinner, You'd think the devil in her, Nither roast, baki'd, or boil'd will content her, And when that the has done, She throws me down a hone, and ſays, 'Take that as an honour. ſhe rides in her coach, To the balls and plays. Where her farks and ſhe do aſſemble, And when ſhe does come home, I fly out of the room, for the makes my poor joints tremble. But when ſhe goes to ſuppers She raiſes ſuch a clatter, Tis more than I can do to wait upen her ; To a bill or to a ploy. To a tavern night and day, o drink wine wick come gentleman or other. 0 come then death, And ſtop the breath That my ſorrows may be all s'er, ra ſpend my nights and days, With all the jolly blades And ever be married any, more.

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